


Back to the Hedgerows

by RoseWinterborn



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, For those of y'all who are squeamish about that kinda thing, Other, i live for the melodrama my friends, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-19 14:11:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20658545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseWinterborn/pseuds/RoseWinterborn
Summary: Peter comes out of isolation to join Buddy Aurinko's crew, and isn't the only one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is your warning that I update sporadically. Like. So sporadically it might seem like I've died. 
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> Title from "Shrike" by Hozier

It’s a surprisingly easy decision to join the  _ Renaissance,  _ Peter finds. To go from last-minute ticket stubs to the first listed destination, hotel rooms chosen for ease of escape, to the soft thrum of an engine under his feet that he trusted to bear him across the galaxy.

He meets Buddy Aurinko and her crew on Mars, the planet’s red desert a bittersweet reminder under the Ruby7’s wheels. She’s pleased to see him, greets him as Nyx Hawthorne with a kiss on each cheek. He’s pleased to see her as well, pleased to see that her skin has healed well, despite its coloring, and pleased to see Vespa slink up behind her like a shadow, uncertain and perhaps a little feral.

Buddy shows him to the ship, a classy little thing made for a crew of six or so, and leaves him to unpack, mentioning in passing that they’ll be leaving soon to pick up the rest of the crew. Peter can’t bring himself to have more than an idle curiosity about the rest of the crew, preoccupied as he is with the concept of having a room of his own.

Peter surveys the empty suite that is his quarters thoughtfully. It’s little more than a bunk, a closet, and a little bathroom, done up in white and chrome and replicated wood. It’s the closest he's gotten to having a home, ever. Sure, he has bolt holes on every planet from Venus to the Outer Rim, but none of those places even remotely constituted a  _ home _ . 

Peter has one suitcase containing three changes of clothes, a handful of jewels, and a slew of passports. Even unpacked, it leaves the space bare and cold. That will have to be remedied.

Buddy’s voice floats over the intercom, alerting him that they’ll be taking off momentarily. He lets it slide over him, continuing to explore the nooks and crannies of his room as though there’s anything more to discover.

They land again in the desert, and that piques his curiosity. He finds his way into the cargo hold, where Buddy and Vespa are locked in conversation by the doors, their manner easy and soft.

It’s a marvel, to see them like this. Peter has only ever seen Buddy without Vespa, the gangrenous parts of her face covered by masks and glasses and a curtain of hair. He’s only ever seen her hard and cold, a woman who knows exactly what she wants and exactly how far she will go to get it.

Now, he sees a woman in love.

Her one-eyed gaze is warm where it falls on Vespa, her red hair still sheeted over part of her face. It seems less of a mask, somehow, now that she’s no longer grieving. Their hands are linked between them, fingers curling and uncurling over each other’s like they can’t quite believe that this is real.

It makes Peter’s chest ache.

He leans against the front bumper of the Ruby7, arms crossed over his chest to keep it from splitting open, and tries to pull himself together. It’s best he makes a good impression on the new crewmates; he’s only ever had a professional relationship with Buddy, and it would be a shame to have anything else going forward.

He smooths his hair to one side of his forehead, fingers combing through the strands carefully, and adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He wonders if he should have checked his makeup before leaving his room, but thinks grimly that it’s too late now. The cosmetics are high-grade anyway, and unlikely to smear, so perhaps his concern is unwarranted.

Buddy drops the ramp into the sand, dust rising to dance in the lights from the ship. It’s far past dusk now, the sky lit up orange over Hyperion City in the distance. Peter swallows hard at the sight of it, clenching his arms a bit tighter around himself.

The sooner they leave this planet, the more cheerful he’ll be.

A low buzzing sound pricks in his ears, growing gradually louder, and in the distance he picks out a tiny shape growing as it approaches. It eventually coalesces into a bike, two passengers sitting windswept in the sidecar, a hulking shape that could only be Jet Sikuliaq on the bike itself. Peter watches absently, his mind elsewhere. Something about the lights of that distant city, and the man he knows is somewhere in its arms, walking its streets, hands deep in the pockets of his hideous coat, head low and shoulders hunched as though he expects the city itself to eat him alive.

Peter bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, drawing himself away. He’s already breaking the terms of their arrangement, being on Mars at all. It almost feels scandalous, to be thinking about Juno as well.

The bike drones to a stop at the bottom of the ramp, and Peter watches the passengers disembark. Jet Sekuliaq removes his helmet and stores it in the sidecar, wheeling the bike up the ramp as his passengers gape at the ship. The smaller of the two, a rather plump figure with a cloud of red curls poking out from under her helmet, turns to speak to the other, too far away to hear. After a moment, the figure removes her helmet as well, and Peter’s brow furrows.

Rita.

The other figure reaches for their helmet as well, and Peter sucks in a breath to steel himself before the whole world falls out from under him.

Juno Steel himself stands in the desert at the base of the ramp leading onto the  _ Renaissance,  _ coat ruffled, hair matted from the helmet, one eye covered in a plain black patch that somehow fails to diminish any of the beauty in his face. His remaining eye catalogues the ship, keenly noting Buddy and Vespa, Jet, Rita, the space of the cargo hold.

Peter has just a moment to compose himself before Juno's eyes fall on him. The lady freezes, and Peter forces a smile, molds his voice into its customary purr. "Hello, Juno. It's been a while."

Juno says nothing in reply, just stares, face stricken and ashen. Peter’s heart pounds, and he can feel the smile on his face starting to tremble, a curious prickling sensation pressing behind his eyes.

"You coming Steel? We haven't got all night," Vespa calls irritably. "There’s plenty of time to stare at Hawthorne later."

Juno's face reddens, and he drops his eyes to the sand, trudging mechanically up the ramp behind Rita and glancing periodically up at Peter. With every step closer, Peter's heart rate increases until he’s certain it could be heard all the way to Hyperion City. He can feel it in his throat, feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself, flexes his fingers where they’re crossed over his forearms, and takes his eyes off the private eye boarding the ship. Half a thought crosses his mind, wondering what Juno saw that made him make a face like that. Peter shoves it viciously aside and rocks up onto his feet, unsure what to do, where to go. 

Buddy is already closing the cargo doors. “Takeoff in t-minus-five, everyone get situated. Nyx, Detective Steel will be in the room across from yours. Please show him the way.”

Peter gives her an unsteady nod and flicks his eyes to Juno, half a nervous smile crossing back onto his face. Juno can’t seem to form any kind of expression, his face numb and blank when it meets his, save for the look in his eye, which is impossible to read.

Peter recalls the last time he looked into that eye, and his chest aches to remember. He looks away, turns towards the portal to the rest of the ship, and with a few jerky steps leads Juno out of the cargo hold. He can hear Juno shuffle along behind. 

The air is curiously cold against his skin, especially for filtered and climate-controlled oxygen. When he looks down at his hands, he realizes they’re shaking. 

“...Nureyev?”

The back of his neck prickles, and a shiver runs down his spine. It’s been a long time since that voice said his name. “Juno,” he says carefully.

“I guess. I guess we need to talk.” Peter turns to look the detective up and down, lips pressed firmly together. Juno seems to be folding in on himself, his face finally giving Peter a glimpse into his mind. He looked both terrified and sheepish, his eye crinkled at the corner in a wince. 

“Your room is there,” Peter says sharply, pointing. “Be sure to let Buddy know if you need anything else.”

“Nureyev--!” 

Peter ducks into his own room and slides the door shut behind him, leaning back against it and pressing his clasped fists to his chest to stop their trembling. 

In the dim light, his room seemed somehow emptier, and Peter’s breath grew more uneven as he started to wonder if this was such a good decision after all. 

Half a memory fights its way into his mind’s eye, a softly-lit room set aside from the rest of the world, a little bubble of quiet and safety, so short-lived that Peter had almost managed to put it out of his mind, until Buddy had called him back to this damn planet. 

_ Peter can feel the change in Juno's body, the tension that rolls through him in slow motion as he peppers the lady's jaw with kisses. He can feel it in the cadence of his lover's breath and the way it goes ragged, in the way his wrists strain as he clenches his hands into fists under Peter's grip.  
_

_ "Please just get on with it."  
_

_ Peter pauses, uncertain if he's heard anything at all, and draws back to prop himself up on his elbows, his brow furrowed. He runs his thumb gently under Juno's missing eye, careful not to catch the edge of the gauze. "Juno?" _

There’s a sound in his throat that might be a sob, and Peter claps a hand to his mouth, bracing himself on the doorframe to keep from stumbling. He stumbles over to his bed and sits down on the edge of the mattress, wrapping his arms around himself and pressing his forehead to his knees to try and hold himself together as his heart tries to tear him apart.


	2. Chapter 2

Juno himself is standing dumb in the hallway, fingers wrapped tight around the handle of his duffel bag to keep them from trembling. 

Well.  _ That  _ went down like a lead balloon. 

He takes a deep breath and dips into his own room, not quite seeing the sparse space for what it was. Distantly, he’s cataloging the differences between his cabin and his apartment in Hyperion, the difference in color and texture and space, since he’s downscaling from some four-hundred square feet to a glorified closet in a little spaceship  _ that’s about to be in space.  _ Juno’s stomach all but turns over at the idea, and he sets about unpacking to distract himself. 

He is so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice when the ship takes off; the stabilizers are doing a remarkably good job, better than any public transport he’s ever been on. He still has to brace himself on the wall for a moment as they leave the atmosphere, but once the turbulence passes he’s able to stand upright again. There’s no window to see out of, leaving him to imagine the black sea surrounding them for a moment before he forcibly turns his attention back to the duffel spread out on his bed, roughly the size of a body bag.

He’s brought as much with him as he could, though he has a storage unit in Hyperion to keep the rest safe until he decides what to do with it. Most of the clothes he actually likes are in his duffel bag, as well as a couple of art pieces he couldn’t bring himself to leave behind. They were small, stupid little paintings done badly, and tucked between them are a handful of photographs and the stupid postcards Benten had sent him when he decided Juno wasn’t visiting enough. Juno doesn’t need the artistic renditions of Hyperion City printed on the glossy side, but Benten’s handwriting on the matte one brings a little quirk to his mouth these days. He sticks both the postcards and the photos up on the wall next to his bed, sets the paintings on the closet floor, and hangs up his clothes. By the time he’s done, he’s nearly stopped trembling. 

When he can’t think of anything better to do, he wanders out to find the common area. It’s a small ship, so it doesn’t take long, dumping him out in the control room where everyone but Peter is congregated to discuss the best course to their destination.

“Where are we going?” he asks, after listening to them talk for just long enough to decide he won’t be able to work it out himself from context. 

“Oberon. Second-largest satellite to Uranus. Figured it might be best to get you and Miss Rita far away from Mars for a bit.”

Juno nods. Probably won’t hurt, what with all the Ramses O’Flaherty shenanigans, which hadn’t quite died down by the time they’d left. He’s not sure if he’s comfortable with it, all things considered, but he has no real reason to stay anywhere near Mars. It’s only the only thing he’d ever known, after all. “Do we have a job?”

“Not yet. I’ll be getting into contact with some friends shortly.” The way Buddy says “friends” makes the detective in Juno itch with curiosity, noting the wicked curve of her mouth and the twinkle in her eye, suppressed behind a careful air of professionalism. But he doesn’t ask any questions, thinking ruefully that he has bigger things to deal with. 

Peter, for example. And the way he had lurched into his room like it was an escape pod.

“So what kind of schedule are we running?” he asks. “We gonna have a team meeting or something to lay out the rules?”

“Planning on being an asshole, Steel?” Vespa asks testily, raising her eyebrow.

“Not on purpose,” Juno quips, a sly grin creeping across his face. 

“Yes. Once we’re done setting the course we’ll have a conference in the kitchen,” Buddy sighs, giving her wife a fond look. 

“Ooh, the kitchen!” Rita finally looks up from her comms screen, eyes wide. “I haven’t been there yet!”

“They’re probably hiding it from you for as long as possible,” Juno says wryly, grinning at her. “They’ll be finding your salmon crisps in the cabinets for decades.”

“Hey now, Mista Steel, that ain’t fair, it only took you two years to find those salmon crisps--”

Juno’s grin widens at the look of suppressed horror on Buddy’s face, which she shares with Vespa across the console. Slowly, the knot in his chest starts to unfurl.

Buddy shakes her head and turns her attention back to the console for a moment, presses a few buttons in quick succession, then stands gracefully, squaring her shoulders. “Alright, then. Conference. Juno, if you’d fetch Nyx? I’m assuming he’s still in his cabin.”

Ah, nevermind. The knot reties itself, even tighter than before. He nods and unpeels himself from the doorframe, eyes meeting Rita’s as he turns. The look on her face is calculating--never a good sign, from the person who knows him best in the damn universe. There’s a conversation brewing there, one that he’s not going to enjoy. 

All too soon he finds himself in the hallway outside Peter’s door, hand poised to knock but frozen inches from the faux wood grain while his heart tries to beat itself out of his chest. There’s no sound of movement from inside, and for a moment it’s crushingly familiar.

_ Peter doesn’t stir as Juno extricates himself from the thief’s embrace, limbs heavy with endorphins and dread. The ache in his chest threatens to tear him apart, every synapse screaming that he’s making a mistake as he puts on his clothes with leaden fingers, fumbling to tie the laces of his boots. He pauses in the doorway for a long, long moment, and stifles a pathetic whimper behind his hand when Peter says his name, just a sleepy murmur that nearly tears Juno’s heart from his rib cage.  _

_ What would he give, to wake up to Peter’s sleepy affection every day for the rest of his life? To walk back over to that bed, curl up fully clothed next to the thief that stole his heart and just...stay?  _

_ He wants to, so badly. _

_ But there’s a voice in his head reminding him that the fairytale wouldn’t last. That he’s not worth Peter’s time, Peter’s love, and it’s only a matter of time before Peter realizes it too.  _

_ Juno walks out as Peter starts to stir, leaving his heart on the hotel floor in pieces.  _

Juno grits his teeth and drags himself back to the present, forcing the memory down with  _ extreme prejudice.  _

He’d gotten away from Mars, eventually. And finding Peter had been on his to-do list. Juno had just been at a complete loss on how to find a thief without a name in a galaxy bigger than Juno could even comprehend. Buddy’s ship had been the stepping stone to the universe, the first stage in the plan to get Peter back. 

Of course, now he’s skipped several stages of that plan, straight to “grovel at Peter’s feet.” Quotation marks and all. 

There’s a soft shuffling sound behind the door, and Juno finally knocks. “Nur-- _ Hawthorne.  _ Buddy wants to have a crew meeting in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be there in a moment,” comes the reply, voice cold and curiously thick, like the words came unwilling. Juno nods to the door and leaves, certain that Peter doesn’t want him to wait up. 

Peter strides into the kitchen a few minutes after Juno, a tight smile on his face as if to hide the set of his jaw. Juno can see that his eyes are red-rimmed behind his glasses, and his stomach drops. Had Peter been crying? Had Juno done that?

He knows, of course, that the answer to both of those questions is undoubtedly yes, and it makes his fingers itch with the urge to draw Peter close and apologize. Profusely. Audience and all. 

Buddy raises an eyebrow at the two of them, at Peter’s rigid shoulders and Juno’s slumped ones, and asks, “Is this going to be a problem?”

Juno looks at Peter, who hesitates before shaking his head. “No.” Juno smiles grimly at Buddy and shakes his head as well. She doesn’t look like she believes them, but she moves on to start the meeting. 

Rita, however, meets Juno’s eye with a squint that tells him he’ll be spilling his guts the second she can get him cornered. He meets her glare with a sheepish duck of his head. 

She deserves to know. She’d been frantic after the escapade with Miasma, more so after the Free Dome, and he hasn’t really had time to explain himself since Newtown. But she deserves to know. Juno resolves to see if Buddy keeps a liquor cabinet and if he can borrow a few...handles. 

The meeting is standard stuff. What areas are off limits to crew members, housekeeping rules, etcetera. Buddy heads Rita off from adjusting any of the systems on the ship, having noticed a glitter of madness in her eyes. Juno suppresses a grin at the crestfallen look on Rita’s face, ruefully recalling the tangle of wires that had powered their office in Hyperion. Yeah, Buddy was making a good call. 

As if of their own accord, Juno’s eyes keep slipping over to Peter. Studying his sharp profile, long nose and narrow brows and the wide mouth that Juno knows from experience is softer than it looks. Slender, clever fingers capable of so many things, from picking pockets to drawing broken, labored breaths from Juno’s parted lips…

“Any questions, Steel?”

“Uh. No?” Juno can feel the blush rising to color his cheeks. “I’m good.”

“Right.” Vespa’s the one to reply this time, something like mirth behind her eyes. “Sure you are, Steel.” 

“Well then, I think we can call this meeting adjourned.” Buddy starts to rise and grips the table hard, breath hitching; Vespa takes her by the elbow to steady her. “And I think I’ll be going to my cabin to rest,” she adds, smiling at her wife’s admonishing glare.

“I’ll be available for the time being,” Jet says in his stiff voice. “So that Buddy may take her rest.”

“Thank you, Jet.” Buddy and Vespa leave the room slowly, tangled together in a way that makes Juno feel like he should look away. Instead, he watches Peter watch them leave, tries to determine what emotion is lighting up his eyes. Is it concern? Fear? 

Then Peter turns his gaze on Juno, and oh. He recognizes that look.

It’s longing. 

Juno’s heart swells a little in his chest, to see that look. Even though he knows he’s not out of the desert yet, still has plenty of groveling to do, he knows that there’s a  _ chance.  _

Rita interrupts before Juno can say anything to break the tension rippling in the air between them. “Alright, Mista Steel, we’re gonna go to MY cabin and do our nails, and we’re gonna have a LONG CHAT about what you’ve been up to lately!”

“I--” Juno glances at Rita then back to Peter, only to see that he’s looked away, and seems to be drawing in on himself again. “Yeah. Okay, Rita.”

_ I’m so sorry, Peter,  _ he thinks, hoping the sentiment can get through to the thief across the table, just until Juno has a chance to say it out loud. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in two days! Hallelujah! Your comments give me life.

“Where do you want me to start, Rita?” For the first time since boarding the ship a few hours previously--hell, for the first time since waking up one-eyed again after the THEIA removal, Juno feels  _ tired.  _ Like the kinda tired that sits in his bones and bleeds out into the rest of him, seeping into blood and tissue until all he can do is melt back onto Rita’s bunk, staring at the ceiling already plastered with stream posters for shows he only vaguely knows of. 

“Ideally from the beginning,” she says, voice almost obscured by the clatter of tiny bottles of nail enamel. “What color you want, Mista Steel?”

“Surprise me,” he sighs. For a moment he wonders if he should actually choose a color, muses that maybe he should go with black to mirror the state of his soul. 

Then he stops that thought in its tracks. He’s getting better now. There’s no room for thoughts like that in the new Juno Steel.

A blue then, maybe, light like the plasma of the Free Dome sample. Hopeful. Or yellow, bright as the flowers cryo-shipped from Earth, cheerful and warm. 

“Alright, Mista Steel, I think you’ll like this one.” 

Or maybe he’ll let Rita decide. 

“Do you remember Rex Glass, Rita?” Juno asks. His voice sounds bleak even to him as he remembers the suave Dark Matters agent that waltzed into his office and joined him in the windowsill he’d been attempting to climb out of. Now he can see the glimpse of Peter in the smirk Rex had offered has he leaned far too close into Juno’s personal space, the amusement that he couldn’t hide. 

“Of course, Mista Steel, I never forget a face.”

“So you know he’s here, then.”

“Mista Steel, what did I just say? I never forget a face. Even recognized him when he showed up at my apartment on your birthday--”

Juno sits up abruptly. “Wait, what?”

“Oh yeah, he showed up on your birthday to deliver the flowers. Don’t you remember?”

“Dahlias and roses,” Juno muttered. He’d kept those blooms in his apartment for weeks, carefully dried and arranged on a shelf out of the way. They’d lost some of their rich red hues in the process, going faintly golden in the same way that Juno’s memories of Peter had. “Yeah, Rita, I remember.”

“Good, I’m glad. Now lie back down, I don’t want you to see this till I’m done.” She brandishes a fist at him, bottle clutched tightly between her fingers so that only the top of the cap peeks through. 

Juno acquiesces and flops back down, trying to relax when Rita takes his hand and spreads his fingers apart so she can paint his nails. “His real name ain’t Rex Glass, is it boss?”

“No, it’s not.”

“You wanna...tell me what it is?”

Juno shakes his head. “Not my secret to tell, Rita.”

She sighs, a frustrated puff of air, and starts the first coat. “Fine. Go on then.”

“Anyway. You remember how he got arrested after the Mask case?” Ugh. How do you tell your secretary that you were making out with a criminal in your office? 

“Yeah….” There’s a question mark there that grates on him.

“He. Kissed me.” There you go, Steel. Short and sweet.

Rita squealed. 

“Then he picked my pocket, and I called the HCPD. He escaped on the way to the precinct.”

“Ohmygosh Mista Steel, that’s just like this one stream I saw--”

“Rita, if you want me to tell the story you’re gonna have to stop interrupting,” Juno tells the poster of what he imagines is the stream she’s talking about. 

“Sorry boss. Go ahead.”

“He stole Grim’s mask from the safe in the office. Then he stole a whole bunch of other Martian artifacts, all the ones we were chasing after, remember? Except I didn’t know it was him at the time.” Juno pauses for a moment, thinking. “Then the night of the Vixen case, when I had Vicky borrow your comms? I’d asked her to contact someone who knew about the Martian artifact thefts. It was Nur-Glass. He showed up in my apartment that night when I got home.”

Juno’s mouth turns up at the corner at that memory. Peter had been draped across Juno’s crappy sofa like a work of art, all crisp suit and perfect hair and sharp teeth, a delicate net of jewels spread across his collarbones. Juno remembered sputtering his name, indignant and incredulous and...appreciative. 

_ “Hello, Juno. It’s been awhile.”  _

_ “Ngh--Nureyev?” _

_ “The very same.” A flash of those sharp vulpine teeth. “Don’t get too comfortable, Detective. We’re leaving. Immediately.” _

_ “If you think I’m going  _ ** _anywhere _ ** _ with you--” _

_ “I don’t think, Juno. I know.” He’d sat up then, a smirk on his face that made Juno want to punch him and kiss him at the same time. Those bright eyes, boring into his own, turning his insides into pudding. “You called me, remember?” _

“That’s when I...disappeared. The first time.”

“Where did you go?” Rita asks softly. She’s surprisingly calm, painting his nails one stroke of the brush at a time, eyes fixed on her task, like she knows how hard the words are coming and she’s trying not to spook him. 

“The middle of the damn desert, first. N--Glass wanted to show me  _ the unrobbable train that he wanted to rob.  _ Then the Oasis Resort.”

“That’s a fancy place, Mista Steel.”

“Oh, have you been?” Juno asks, quirking an eyebrow at the ceiling. 

“Nah. Watched the Rangian Street Poker tournaments on the streams, though.”

Juno coughs up a laugh. “Glass played.”

At that, Rita finally loses some of her restraint. “Mista Glass can play  _ Rangian Street Poker?”  _

“I think so?”

“What do you mean ‘you think so,’ boss?”

“I couldn’t follow it at all, Rita. That game makes no sense at all.”

“Of course it does! You just--”

“No, no no no, Rita, I don’t want a rundown of the rules. I lived it, that was bad enough.”

“If you say so, boss. D’you think he’d teach me how to play?”

“I don’t know, Rita, you’ll have to ask him.” Juno studies the posters some more, then sighs. He tells her about the resort, the game, the assassin, their daring escape.

“How come it’s called the “Ruby7” if it’s green, Mista Steel?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Juno tells her about Engstrom, then Valencia, then...Miasma. Rita actually takes his hand when he gets to her, and he’s grateful. It gives him something to focus on other than the lump in his throat. 

“That was...awful. Rita. Every day was so hard, I just wanted...wanted…” He’d wanted to die. He couldn’t have, because there was more spite in him than there was common sense, but when it came down to it? He wouldn’t have minded closing his eyes in that tomb and never opening them again. “I just wanted it to stop,” he said hoarsely. 

She squeezes his hand gently, and he squeezes back. 

“Glass got me out. He escaped first, then he broke back in to save me. I lost my eye trying to...escape.” 

Yeah, easiest way to explain that one. 

“Anyway, he took me back to Hyperion to get patched up and we...we…”

“Awwwww, Mista Steel,  _ you’re blushin’--”  _

“Shut up, Rita,” he growls, a reluctant grin stealing across his face. “We spent the night together, alright? It was...nice.”

“It was  _ nice,  _ he says, like he didn’t just live all the best parts of an adventure romance stream in real time--”

“ _ Rita I lost my eye!” _

“We all gotta make sacrifices for true love, Mista Steel.”

Juno covers his face with his hands and groans.

“What happened next, boss?” she asks, prodding his ribs. 

“I left him,” Juno says quietly. “While he was asleep, I just. Walked out.”

_ “Mista Steel you didn’t!” _

Juno laughs darkly. “Now you see why he doesn’t even want to look at me?”

_ “JuNO!”  _ Rita whacks him with a pillow. “I can’t believe you, Mista Steel, the most amazing thing to ever happen to you falls into your lap and you just  _ walk out?” _

“Yeah, Rita, I did. I’m not saying I was  _ right,  _ obviously!” He raises an arm to halfheartedly defend himself, the light catching on his nails. They’re iridescent, shifting from blue to green to violet in the light as Rita continues to hit him with her pillow. “It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made!”

With one last solid slap, Rita ends her assault, glaring at him over the top of the pillow. “Well at least you figure  _ that  _ out _ . _ ”

“What the hell am I gonna  _ do,  _ Rita?” Juno groans. 

“I think I’d start with an apology!”

“I am so,  _ so far  _ beyond apologies at this point,” Juno says, thinking ruefully back to his “groveling” plan. “I don’t think he wants to hear them.”

“Of  _ course  _ he wants to hear them, you moron!” Rita hisses, in that way that she does when she’s trying not to scream at him. 

“You  _ saw  _ him, Rita! He can’t even look at me!”

“ _ All contrary,  _ boss. He was lookin’ at you quite a bit, I was watchin’.” 

“ _ What.” _

“Aw come on, boss, you can’t expect me to  _ not notice  _ two grown adults _ pining for each other  _ on a ragtag space crew. It’s just like that stream I saw the other day--”

“ _ Rita.” _

“All right, all right, all I’m sayin’ is, I know how this works out. And the way it works out is: you’re gonna get him back, Mista Steel. If I’ve seen it once, I’ve seen it a million times. The lady always gets the guy, boss. You’ll see.”

Juno sighs, stealing the pillow from her and hugging it to his chest. “You think so?”

“I  _ know  _ so, Mista Steel.”

Juno closes his eye and just breathes, trying to inhale some of Rita’s optimism like a drug, trying to will himself to believe that he’ll get Peter Nureyev back. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of writers far braver than me, no beta we die like men.

Peter dons his mask once more the next morning, carefully altering Nyx Hawthorne to suit his needs. He makes him cool and distant, an aloof smile and a polite “if you’ll excuse me,” a phrase that becomes his lifeline each time Juno manages to find him alone, in the hallway outside their rooms, in the kitchen late at night, in the rec room when Rita less-than-surreptitiously decides she’s needed elsewhere, a knowing look on her face as she retreats.

So Juno’s told her, then. 

Lovely. 

He has to wonder just how much. How far back did he go? The Utgard heist? The Kanagawas? Did he tell her about the kiss in his apartment, the night after the tomb?

_ "Juno?" _

_ Junos remaining eye is closed tight for a long moment, before he opens it and meets Peter's worried gaze.There's so...much in his eye, that if Peter had been standing he'd have been brought to his knees.  _

Tears prick behind Peter’s eyes and he clenches his teeth. No, he won’t be going back there.  _ They  _ won’t be going back there.

It is an excruciating three weeks.  


Three weeks is a long time for Peter Nureyev. He’s starting to itch for a change, for a chase, just as they near Oberon. It’s a relief to see that spinning orb in the distance, the blush-colored ice plains glistening with the lights of hundreds of cities. Peter aches to lose himself in a sea of Oberonian people, to distract his whirling mind.

Buddy, of course, chaos goddess that she is, provides him such an escape. 

It’s a simple enough heist, honed in on a handful of Uranian ice diamonds of truly remarkable value. Jet poses as vault security for a little over a week beforehand, while Peter learns the codes and routes necessary to slip in and out undetected. 

It’s a simple enough heist, so Peter is utterly flabbergasted when it all falls apart. 

It’s nothing they could have predicted, just a guard watching Jet’s interests a little too closely perhaps, or something equally trivial, but either way it ends in Peter and Juno bolting down an endless corridor, lasar fire singeing them as it blazes past. 

“There’s an--elevator up ahead--” Peter pants, eyes fixed on the bit of wall he’s hoping will be their salvation. 

“Better be,” Juno gasps back, “or I’ll be short a lung, too.”

Peter can’t help himself; he huffs a laugh. Then he skids to a halt, skimming his hand over a panel on the wall and sagging with relief as several square feet of wall slide away to reveal a vacant elevator car. He grabs Juno by the sleeve and yanks him inside. His fingers catch on the fabric, and he can feel its texture against his skin long after he’s let go. 

Juno catches himself on the far wall and tries to catch his breath, pressing his forehead to the mirrored glass. Peter scans the buttons for the second floor, which opens into the parking garage where Buddy is waiting with the Ruby7. “Juno, when we get to the second floor, you need to be ready to run.”

“No,” Juno wheezes. “First floor. They’ll be--waiting on the second.”

Peter pauses. “You’re certain?”

Juno nods against the glass. “Standard containment procedures. They’ll be locking down all the exits.”

Peter mutely punches the button for the first floor.

The elevator opens into a service hallway, close enough to the lobby that they can hear the lockdown sirens blaring, echoing off the chrome and marble surfaces meant to disguise the establishment for what it was: a high-security vault holding some of the most valuable artifacts on this end of the solar system. They head for the stairwell; Peter takes the steps two at a time, smirking a bit when Juno grumbles behind him, trying to keep up with his long stride. He can feel the case containing the diamonds rattling in his breast pocket, each carbon crystal flawless and sharp. 

Like the eyes--eye--of a certain former private eye, Peter muses, before getting a handle on his unruly thoughts.

Said detective is peering around the edge of the door into the garage, lips moving soundlessly as he counts.

“I can see four security guards, two over there and two more by the far exit.” He glances at Peter with an edge of frustration. “I don’t think I can make that shot.”

Peter holds out a hand for Juno’s gun, and he passes it over wordlessly. Peter takes his time to line up the shots; the gun doesn’t quite feel foreign in his hand, but it’s hardly his weapon of choice. Four stun blasts later (he’s not a monster, after all), he and Juno are dashing for the emerald vehicle already pulling out of its modest hiding place in the back of the garage.

“Well, that could have gone more smoothly,” Buddy remarks, eyes fixed on the road. 

“You’re telling me,” Juno gasps, sinking into the seat and closing his eye. Beads of perspiration are forming in his hairline; Peter’s close enough that he could count them.

“Indeed,” he says, tearing his eyes away from the detective’s face. “It’s really thanks to Juno we got out, however. Without his quick thinking we’d have been held up on the second floor.”

Juno cracks his eye open and grins, his expression soft and almost...relaxed. “Hey thanks, Nur-Nyx, that means a lot, coming from you.”

Peter offers him a frosty smile to mask the way his heart turns over in his chest at the sight of that smile. He’s not sure it’s one he’s seen before. 

The Juno Steel he met on the Kanagawa heist had only offered wry smiles, grim and self-deprecating and closer to a wince more often than not. The Juno Steel he’d dragged to the Oasis Resort had smiled very little, save for a bratty smirk whenever he happened to catch Peter off guard, or to punctuate a cutting line delivered to Engstrom or Valencia just before he pulled something clever. And in the tomb, well. If there had been little call for mirth on the Utgard Express, then there had been even less in the Martian tomb. 

Peter still wakes in a cold sweat some nights, hands twisted in the sheets to fend off the tremors from Miasma’s torture devices, or reaching for a battered detective sleeping off his latest injuries. Miasma hadn’t hurt Juno the way she’d hurt Peter, not physically. But Peter can still see in his mind’s eye the way his face had grown pale, the way his hands shook and he moved like his every joint was crumbling, the way he had curled in on himself when she finally let him rest. No, she hadn’t hurt Juno the way she’d hurt Peter. The scars she left him were internal, private, enduring. 

Even now, Peter can’t forgive her for that. 

He wonders if Juno’s been smiling like that since he boarded the  _ Renaissance,  _ and if he’s just been too busy avoiding him to notice. 

“Well done, Detective Steel,” Buddy replies, just short of beaming at him through the rear-view mirror. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

Juno offers her a flippant salute, his breathing a little steadier. 

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll be quiet a moment, we have a few tails to cut loose.” With a chorus of whistles from the Ruby7, Buddy leaves the vehicle to work its magic on the darkening city streets, whisking them back to the  _ Renaissance  _ as if they’d never been there at all. 

Fencing the diamonds will be the work of several weeks, but for now the jewels are pressed snugly to Peter’s sternum. Each touch of the case to his chest is a warmly uncomfortable reminder of the glint in Juno’s eye during the heat of the chase, of the keen mind that had drawn Peter’s attention over a year ago when he thought the detective would be just a simple dupe in the way of Peter’s heist, and has continued to surprise him ever since. 

A reminder of the way Peter freezes every time Juno comes near, when all he wants to do is melt. 


	5. Chapter 5

Once the  _ Renaissance  _ is back in the sky, the unanimous vote (with the boisterous and indignant exception of Rita) is to just...go to bed. Juno drops into his bunk like a bag of sand, but he feels...fizzy, somehow. There's a lightness in his chest that hadn't been there that morning (not that there was any room for emotions next to the crippling terror preceding his first heist). His body aches with exhaustion, and for a long moment he indulges the fantasy of having someone else there to soothe the pain away, whether by simple body heat or other means. And okay, yeah, he's thinking of a specific "someone else," but sue him, he's allowed to  _ pine  _ once in a while. It's been weeks of this...this  _ nothing,  _ and it's eating him alive. 

Juno thinks if the dizzying scent of Peter's cologne in the back of the Ruby7, not the one that had drawn Juno in when they first met, but something equally exotic. His exhaustion had started to get the best of him just after they left the city limits, the  _ Renaissance  _ coming into view in the distance, and he'd thought about letting his head drop ever so slightly to rest on Peter's shoulder. Had he done it? No. But he'd thought about it, and it's the thought that counts, right?

Juno turns over and tries, not for the first time, to remember what it had felt like to be held by Peter Nureyev. 

He'd fallen asleep as they'd driven away from the tomb, tucked into Peter's side, the thief's arm wrapped around his shoulders. His neck had ached when he woke up outside the clinic, but it had been worth it for the first good sleep he'd gotten in weeks. 

He'd liked the way Peter held him, too. Protective but not possessive, like he was happy to hold Juno for as long as he wanted to be held, but would be perfectly willing to let him go the second Juno decided he was done. 

God, Juno wishes he hadn't decided he was done. 

Because Peter hadn't stopped touching him like that. In the clinic, he'd laced his fingers through Juno's while the doctor cleaned the remaining tissue from his eye socket. He'd tucked his arm through Juno's like it was a fancy date as they entered the hotel. 

And every touch in that serene little bubble of happiness? Each one had been deliberate, feather-light, but so damn  _ much _ that it had stripped Juno down to his core, and then broken him into jagged, cutting pieces. 

With his eye closed in the quiet darkness of his cabin, Juno can almost replicate the whisper of Peter's lips on his skin, the brush of his fingertips skimming up his ribs. Juno touches himself and pretends it's the man asleep across the hall, wishes the paltry distance away for just a little while. 

The next morning finds them convened in the ships tiny kitchen, Buddy wrapped in a tasteful dressing gown and her sleepy wife, Rita in her bunny slippers, their stylized night-vision goggles glinting as she swings her feet under the table. Her eyes are owlish as she turns the diamonds over in her hands.

“Woooow, Mista Steel! Look at this!”

Juno indulges her, studying the gems with as much interest as he can muster. “Real shiny, Rita.”

“No, boss, not that!  _ Look!” _

She jams the diamonds into his face, and it takes him a moment to figure out how to focus. He squints. “Is that...water?”

“It is,” Buddy says, watching them over her steepled fingers with an amused smile. “Uranian ice diamonds are famous for it. The water makes a unique crystal formation when frozen, it’s why they’re so valuable.”

“Huh,” Juno says, sitting back. “I feel a little better about almost dying for them now.”

“Oh, nonsense, Juno. We were never in any real danger.” Nureyev’s Hawthorne voice is cool but amused, a dissonance that Juno is personally taking as a win. He turns his head to watch the man glide across the room, teacup in hand and evidently in need of a refill. There’s that tiny ache in Juno’s chest again, at the sight of Peter’s deft fingers handling something as domestic as a kettle. At least he’s speaking to him now, which is more than he can say for the agonizing month before the heist. 

“Never in any real danger,” Juno huffs. “Hey, N-Nyx, remind me of that the next time I need to replace my coat because it’s full of holes.”

“I hope you’re not blaming that on the lasar fire, Juno, because I’m fairly certain those holes were there before we ever set foot in the vault.”

Rita all but cackles; Buddy takes the diamonds from her before they spill from her shaking hands. “He’s got a point there, boss. How many times did you have to take it to the tailor?”

“None,” Juno said smugly. “I patched it up myself.”

“That explains so much,” Vespa says, joining Peter by the kettle. Her hair is damp, as is Buddy’s, from a morning shower. After ascertaining that the diamonds were on board and they weren’t being followed, the crew had unanimously voted that anything else could wait until morning. Once the adrenaline from the chase had worn off, it was all Juno could do to stay upright long enough for Rita to check him over for burns, since she wouldn’t believe him when he said he was fine.

_ “You always say you’re fine, Mista Steel, but half the time you’re lyin’ to me.” _

_ “Well this time I’m not, Rita.” _

_ “Well I won’t know for sure until I check, will I boss?” _

Juno grins into his coffee, chest feeling curiously full. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Maybe he should look into that. 

Peter joins them at the table, long fingers clasped around his steaming cup. Juno could get used to this view: Peter in his sweater and soft pajama pants, his hair unsettled, face bare of makeup behind his glasses. He looks tired, soft amd small in a way that makes Juno feel, well.  _ All fuzzy inside.  _

He's quiet as Peter and Buddy discuss potential buyers for the diamonds, sipping his coffee and listening to Rita plead to keep just one "as a souvenir." He's almost inclined to agree with her; it's a pretty cool rock. 

He doesn't notice the room's gone quiet until Rita kicks him under the table. "You're starin,' boss," she whispers. Loudly. 

Peter tilts his head to look at him, expression polite, eyes unreadable. Juno feels frozen under that quizzical stare. 

He takes a clumsy sip of his coffee. "Sorry." 

Peter stares for one beat longer, the faintest of smiles ghosting across his lips, then goes back to his conversation. 

Juno frowns at his coffee, trying to remember what a real smile looks like on Peter's face. One that isn't just teeth and feigned courtesy. 

"Juno, dear, what did that poor cuo ever do to you?" Buddy teases. 

_ Failed to contain booze, for a start.  _ Juno shakes his head and forces a smile. "Nothing." He stretches and stands, mug cradled to his chest. "I'll be, uh. In my room. If anyone needs me."

He meets Rita's gaze as he turns, and sees the sympathy in it. Mixed with a bit of impatience. He just shrugs. 

No need for anyone to see him lose it over a half-smile that might not have even been there at all. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy my Rita! chapter, because it was absolutely exhausting to write lol

Rita expects to see some  _ changes  _ after the Oberon heist. A little less pinin’ and a little more, oh,  _ talkin,’  _ maybe. She’d  _ seen  _ the capital-L Look those two had shared getting outta Jet’s car, like they was talkin’ with their eyes. 

So when Mista Steel slinks outta the kitchen the next morning, she’s more than a little  _ put out.  _

Everyone else is just kinda confused; Buddy’s clearly thinkin’ when she watches him go, and Mista Hawthorne-née-Glass? Well. He’s trying real hard not to watch him go at all.

_ But it’s not workin’.  _

RITA sees all! RITA sees the way his eyes trail after Mista Steel, that little crinkle they get at the edges like he’s sad or somethin’. 

She sighs loudly into her cereal, and everyone around her jumps. 

“Is something the matter, Rita?” Buddy askes, bemused.

“Nah. I mean, yeah, but I gotta deal with it later.” She slurps up a spoonful of cereal. 

The Great and Powerful RITA is  _ on the case _ . 

_ RITA’S EXTREMELY CLEVER PLAN TO GET MISTA HAWTHORNE-NÉE-GLASS TO TALK TO MISTA STEEL:  _

  * __Devise a CLEVER PLAN to lure them in__
  * _Get them to stay in the SAME ROOM, for more than twenty seconds_

Rita is a  _ master manipulator _ . 

Mista Steel is no stranger to her frequent stream binges, so getting him to agree to a movie night is the easy part. He even smiles when he agrees, even though it looks tired and sad and that makes  _ Rita  _ feel tired and sad too.

(Not for long! That’s what this movie night is  _ for! _ )

Mista Hawthorne-née-Glass is another story. That man is an enigma wrapped in another enigma wrapped in another  _ enigma.  _ Rita’s not sure she can get him to stay in the same room with  _ her  _ for more than twenty seconds, because every time she tries to get him alone to talk to him (it would just be  _ rude  _ to invite him to a movie night in front of other people) he gives her a tiny little smile and excuses himself. 

It’s almost a week before Rita manages to get him cornered, and she’s startin’ to get desperate.

She’s lyin’ in wait when the bathroom door slides open, and just as Mista Hawthorne-née-Glass steps out Rita pops up out of her hidin’ place, arms crossed over her chest, glarin’ at him over the rims of her glasses. He recoils, one hand flashin’ to his side for half a second before he catches himself. Delicately, he puts a hand to his heart and huffs a laugh. “Miss Rita, you startled me.”

“MISTa Hawthorne!” she says. “I, RITA, hereby invite YOU, to a movie night, with ME. RITA. And you are not allowed to refuse.”

“I...Miss Rita, I think you misunderstand how invitations work.”

“No, Mista Hawthorne, it’s you who misunderstands how invitations work. Be in MY cabin at EIGHT PM, got it?”

“Well, I seem to lack the ability to say ‘no,’ so I suppose I’ve ‘got it,’” he says dryly. 

“GOOD.” She relaxes her stance and, after a moment, reaches up to pat him on the absurdly high shoulder. “I’ll see you there.” 

Mista Steel, at least, knows how to be on time. At 7:45 he’s sprawled across her bed, one of her fuzzy throw pillows hugged to his chest, his head propped up on another two. “Rita, anyone ever tell you you’ve got too many pillows?”

“Not eva, Mista Steel.” 

“Good.” He nestles in a little deeper, and Rita fights the urge to coo over him like a cat. She’s never seen Mista Steel soft like this, wearin’ a sweater for god’s sake, with little knitted rabbits on it, his hair mussed by her pillows and his feet obscured by the too-long legs of his pajama pants. Every time she’d had him over for a movie night on Mars he’d showed up in his stupid coat and his stupid turtleneck and his stupid work boots and  _ fallen asleep halfway through the second episode.  _

Honestly, Rita didn’t mind that part as much. Sometimes she’d invited him over to watch a movie just so he’d get a little shut-eye. He thought she didn’t notice when he never went back to his apartment on cases, but the great and powerful Rita  _ sees all.  _

And if he knew that she knew? Well, he always let himself be tricked into takin’ a nap anyways. 

“What’s on the docket for tonight, Rita?” he asks, eye half-shut already.

“ _ The Venusian Woman, _ ” Rita says, scrolling a hand through the air like the letters were passing on a marquis. “It’s about a woman who--”

“Isn’t that a heist flick? Rita, you do realize that’s what we do for a living now, right?”

“Hey now, Mista Steel, I don’t get to do the exciting bits with you. I gotta get my thrills from fiction just like everybody else.”

He sighs, but there’s a smile there. “I’ll see if I can talk Buddy into letting you go on ‘the exciting bit’ next time, okay?”

“You’re a gem, Mista Steel. A real  _ Uranian diamond. _ ” 

He chuckles, and it almost covers up the sound of the knock at the door. Juno half sits up, brow furrowed. “You expecting company, Rita?”

“Oh yeah! That’ll be Mista Glass!”

“Mista G--oh, no, Rita  _ you didn’t--” _

But she’s already throwin’ open the door. “ _ Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” _

“Hello, Miss Rita,” Mista Hawthorne-née-Glass says, voice just as smooth as the time he’d sweet-talked her in Mista Steel’s office. “I apologize if I’m a bit late.”

“Well you showed up, and that’s all that matters,” she said. “Come on in, have a seat anywhere--”

If looks could kill, Mista Steel would be roasting her to bits. But his expression changes the moment Mista Hawthorne-née-Glass walks in. Rita almost regrets invitin’ him, once she sees the way Mista Steel sits up straight and pulls his knees to his chest like some kinda armor. 

But hey, hard conversations is never easy, and Rita’s just here to mediumate.

Mista Hawthorne-née-Glass sits at the very foot of her bed, so close to the edge he might just fall off. She almost rolls her eyes; clearly this man has never been invited to a movie before. 

“Alright,” she says, shuttin’ the door so there won’t be any darin’ escapes. “I’ve got snacks--” She opens the closet door and steps back to allow the cascade of snacks to rain from where she’s shoved them on the top shelf, since Miss Buddy won’t let her keep them in the kitchen  _ because somebody’s boss told her not to.  _ “And I’ve got streams. Do we need anything else?”

“Drinks?” Mista Hawthorne-née-Glass is already unfoldin’ his long legs and startin’ to stand up. “I can--”

“No no! I got it!” She bustles toward the door. “I’ll be right back!”

Little do they know, she locks the door behind her, shovin’ not one but two potted plants in front of it for good measure. She dusts her hands off and puts them on her hips, congratulatin’ herself for a job well done.

  * __Lock the door and let things work themselves out__
  * _(Be patient)_
  * _(Like real patient Rita, this ain’t like the last time you tried to set up Mista Steel with Miss Strong)_

After a moment, Rita realizes what she’s done. 

She’s locked her boss and his long-lost love in  _ her room  _ with  _ her comms.  _

Aw,  _ man _ ...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one we've all been waiting for, folks.

“She just locked us in here, didn’t she?” Juno asks flatly.

“I do believe she did.” Peter gets up to investigate, only to find that not only has Rita locked the door, she’s also programmed it to stay that way.

What a devious little thing. He’ll have to keep that in mind from now on. 

“Why do you suppose she’s done that?” he asks, though he immediately figures it out and regrets asking the question. All the terror and uncertainty of his first night on the ship comes flooding back, setting his hands to trembling like leaves in a maelstrom. 

“Because she knows I want to talk to you,” Juno sighs. Peter hears the back of his head thump against the wall, and presses his own forehead to the door. “And she decided I wasn’t doing it  _ fast enough. _ ”

“And what,” Peter says, through gritted teeth, “if I don’t want to talk to  _ you.” _

“Then I can’t force you,” Juno says tiredly; Peter can hear an edge of hurt in his voice and it hurts him too, makes him want to take his words back. “But I doubt she’ll let us out until we do.”

Peter breathes deeply, in and out, to calm himself before stepping back from the door, its surface plastered with stream posters of a frankly alarming quantity. He doesn’t go back to the bed; instead he leans against the wall directly across from it, tucking his hands into his pockets and leveling Juno with a stare he hopes is even. “Well, then,” he says, swallowing hard. “Talk.”

Juno looks just as panicked as he feels, knees drawn to his chest and gripped tight in the circle of his arms. His hair is disheveled and his eye is wide, the other a mess of warped scar tissue, his body dwarfed in soft, oversized pajamas and  _ dammit,  _ he’s beautiful. Peter grits his teeth and flexes his fingers in his pockets. 

“I--” Juno swallows, breaks eye contact. He closes his eye tight for a long moment before he opens it again, and Peter is instantly drawn back to the night in the hotel, the sight of Juno spread out below him, shaking and vulnerable, so much pain and longing and want and need and  _ desperation  _ in his eye that it takes Peter’s breath away. He sucks in a breath and slides down the wall, pulling his own knees to his chest as a barrier between himself and all that emotion. “Nureyev, you have to know that I’m  _ sorry.” _

“Just because you’re  _ sorry,  _ Juno, doesn’t mean you’re  _ forgiven.” _

“And I don’t expect to be,” Juno says, sagging. “I just want you to hear me out.

“I wanted to stay with you, from the moment you offered after that night in my apartment. I wanted to...run away, chase the damn stars, spend every day with you for the rest of my life. But I was...god, I was  _ bad,  _ Nureyev. I couldn’t imagine that kind of life, that kind of freedom. I was  _ broken. _ After Miasma I...I’d wished I was dead, Nureyev. I wanted that bomb to kill me.”

Peter had known that. Somewhere, deep down, he’d seen the look on Juno’s face when he wrapped him in his arms on the tomb’s filthy floor, seen the emptiness in his eyes, the blank shock and bitter  _ disappointment  _ of surviving the blast. 

It still hurt to hear him say it out loud. 

“I wanted to go with you, but I also didn’t want  _ anything.  _ I can’t...that doesn’t make any sense. But it’s true. There was just this wall there, and I had to take that wall down before I could go anywhere, even--especially--with you.” Juno’s hands are vices on his shins, knuckles pale and straining. 

Peter imagines his are rather the same. 

“I got...better. Over the last year. Went through some  _ shit,  _ that made me realize...I deserved better. And you, and Rita, everyone, you deserved better from me.”

Peter takes a shuddering breath, and realizes with a start that there are tears running down his cheeks. He considers wiping them away but decides to leave them. There will be more, he’s sure.

“Hyperion was gonna kill me, and I knew that. I just decided that’s not what I wanted, anymore. Buddy, Vespa, Jet...they were my ride off Mars.”

Peter makes a choked sound in his throat, and Juno’s eye flicks up to meet his, his entire apology written out in it like a book. “Nureyev, I--”

“You left Mars with them,” Peter croaks. “But you wouldn’t leave with  _ me.  _ Not after I asked you,  _ so many times--” _

“I had to  _ get better,  _ Nureyev--”

“Was I not  _ good enough for you?” _ Peter spits, tears coming faster now. “After everything we went through, was it not enough that I--”  _ That I loved you? _

Juno’s mouth is slack, his eye wide and astonished, and he’s silent for the space of a heartbeat. “Nur-- _ Peter.  _ No. Never.” If it weren’t for his oversized clothing and the earnest expression on his face, Juno’s movement would have been predatory as he slipped off the edge of the bed to creep closer to Peter on the floor. He reaches out with tentative hands, his warm fingers cupping Peter’s streaming cheeks like brands. “You were only ever...perfect. I mean, sometimes you were an asshole, sure, but that’s...just you. That’s the you that I--” Juno bites his lip, quiet for a split second, before he takes the plunge. “That’s the you that I fell in love with.”

Peter crumbles.

He reaches blindly for Juno, pulling him close and burying his face in that stupid,  _ stupid  _ sweater, sobbing weeks, months,  _ a year’s  _ worth of tears, while Juno’s arms go around him like a sanctuary, warm and protective, gentle and strong all in one. Juno’s fingers are in his hair, stroking up and down his spine, and his voice is soft in Peter’s ear, murmuring broken apologies as he presses his nose into Peter’s hair. It’s impossible to know how long they sit there, wrapped around each other like puzzle pieces, molding themselves back into that perfect fit that they’d found so many months ago. It’s impossible to know how many minutes it takes Peter to run out of tears, until he’s all but silent, hiccuping softly against Juno’s sweater and trying to gather his thoughts.

“Did you mean it?” he whispers. 

“Did I mean what?” Juno’s fingers are running through his hair, and the feeling is divine. 

“When you said you loved me.” Peter grips him a bit tighter.

“I meant it. A thousand times over, Peter, I meant it.” Juno cups his face and draws back, fixing Peter with a gaze so open that there’s no room for doubt. Then he presses a soft kiss to Peter’s forehead, and he almost falls apart again.

“I love you too,” he whimpers. He’s ashamed of the way he says it, the unsteady reediness of his voice, but the way Juno’s face lights up almost makes up for it. “I love you so much, Juno, when you--when you  _ left,  _ it hurt so  _ fucking  _ much…”

“I know, Peter. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have put you through that.” Juno strokes his cheek with his thumb, a mirror of the way Peter had stroked his in a hotel room once upon a time. “I promise I’ll never do it again.”

Peter believes him. God help him, but he believes him. 

He leans back into the warmth of Juno’s body and just breathes, feeling the broken pieces of himself starting to knit back together at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm taking ideas for how to end this in the comments, so feel free to chime in.


	8. Chapter 8

When Rita comes to let them out, she finds them silently entwined on the floor, Peter’s head resting against Juno’s collarbone, Juno’s fingers in his hair. After so many minutes of just listening to Peter’s breathing, of feeling the warmth of his body pressed against him, Juno almost winced when Rita burst into the room. 

“FIIIIIIINALLY! Man, I thought you two were never gonna work it out, boss, I was goin’ crazy waitin’--”

As she chatters in the background, Peter stirs, pulling away from Juno and turning to reluctantly meet his eye. Juno’s fingers slide from his hair to rest on his cheek, and he leans in almost imperceptibly. “I’m. Going to go to bed,” Peter says hoarsely, dropping Juno’s gaze for a second, and it looks like an apology. 

“Okay,” Juno says softly, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Peter gives him a small smile, tired but  _ relieved.  _ His eyes are damp but they’ve regained some of their luster, something that Juno has missed like a phantom limb these last few weeks. He brushes his lips against Juno’s palm as he stands, giving Rita a curt nod as he skirts around her and out into the hall.

“It...did go okay, right boss?” Rita asks, staring after him with a look of concern that might have made Juno laugh if he wasn’t so damn tired.

Exhausted as he is, though, he feels like he’s flying. “Yeah, Rita, he’s just tired. It was...a lot, I think.” Juno stands up, his spine popping in protest. 

“Oh. Well, that’s not how it usually goes in the movies, so I was worried…”

Juno snorts. “Right. So was this whole movie thing just a piece off your admittedly clever ruse, or did you actually want to watch something?”

“Oh, well if you’re offerin’, boss, I’ve got the whole Andromeda series queued up--”

“Ugh, no.” Juno rolls his eye. “What about that heist one you mentioned before?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna watch a heist movie, boss.”

“Anything but Andromeda.” Juno smooths the covers he’d rumpled in his rush to comfort Peter and resumes his position, adding another pillow to the stack under his head for good measure. His eyelid is heavy and puffy from crying; there’s a good chance he’ll sleep through whatever she puts on anyway. 

“Okay, boss, if you’re sure--” Rita turns to the comms display she’s jerry-rigged onto her closet door (Buddy had strictly prohibited the extravagant renovations Rita had wanted to implement, so the closet door had been the least impactful casualty), and Juno closes his eyes, a smile stealing across his face as the weight of a year’s worth of guilt starts to dissipate. 

Changes on the  _ Renaissance  _ are simultaneously immediate and gradual.

Immediate in that the cool distance and rippling tension between Nyx Hawthorne and Juno Steel disappears overnight, replaced by a tentative, companionable sense of new beginnings. Vespa and Buddy both respond to the new dynamic with raised brows, though Vespa’s is very much an expression along the lines of “I’m not touching that with a ten-foot-pole” while Buddy’s is a question, one that Juno answers with nothing but a smile.  _ Problem solved. _ She gives him a slow smile in return and they leave it at that unspoken understanding. 

Gradual in that it takes a while for them to grow back together. The chemistry is there; Juno feels it every time he meets Peter’s eyes, or brushes his hand as he passes him in the hall, or quips under his breath in Peter’s direction, just to hear Peter’s ensuing chuckle. But trust takes time, and Juno’s giving Peter all the time he needs to trust him again. He doesn’t expect them to jump straight back to where they had been; even then it had been precarious, and Juno doesn’t want that. 

So he lets Peter come to him. He makes it clear that he’s there, and his arms and heart are open. But it’s Peter’s turn to be the spooked animal, and Juno’s turn to be patient. 

Peter comes to him in small doses, soft smiles and lingering gazes. Juno wonders how much of Peter’s hesitation is Nyx Hawthorne, cool and aloof and slow to trust, and how much is just Peter, shy and hurt...and slow to trust. 

For now, at least, it’s enough.

Juno wakes to the sound of knocking one night, sitting up and squinting blearily at the door. He stumbles out of bed and slides it open, too groggy to be anything but surprised when it’s Peter on the other side. He’s pale and trembling, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and Juno’s only occasionally seen this uncertainty in him before. “Juno, I--”

Juno’s heart breaks as Peter’s voice cuts off with a tremulous whimper, and before he can think he’s reaching out to pull him close. Peter folds into him, arms coming up to wrap around Juno’s back, catching in the folds of his shirt and gripping tight. His shoulders shake, and Juno runs a soothing hand down his spine.

“Nightmare?” he asks, voice little more than a murmur in Peter’s hair. The thief nods. “Do you want to come in and sit down?”

Peter nods again, and lets Juno disentangle him so he can lead him inside. He perches on the edge of Juno’s bed like a child, shoulders hunched and hands clasped in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor. Juno gets him a glass of water and sits down next to him, unsure what to do next. “Do you...want to talk about it?”

Peter’s head jerks, like an aborted  _ no,  _ before he simply takes a long sip of his water. The tension is visible in his neck as he swallows. Juno takes the glass when he’s done.

“More?”

Peter shakes his head, so he puts it on the nightstand and settles back, cross-legged on the bed, to rub Peter’s back. The silence stretches out taut, while he waits for Peter to decide what he needs.

“It was Miasma,” Peter says hoarsely. “It’s...almost always Miasma.” He clenches his hands in his lap, but Juno can see the tremors in his forearms. He closes one hand over Peters’, remembering the way Peter’s voice had broken under Miasma’s...ministrations. “And then it was... _ Mag.”  _ Peter blinks, eyes wide and unfocused behind his glasses, still lost in his nightmare. “He was disappointed in me.”

Juno’s at a loss with that one. He doesn’t know what Mag’s disappointment means to Peter. “Why?”

“You.” Peter’s laugh is bitter. “He told me to never takes something I wouldn’t be willing to give up. I was good at that, for the longest time, until you, Juno.” Peter’s eyes find his in the dim light, a grim, watery smile on his lips. “You were the only thing I ever wanted, and letting you go…” The tears spilling from his eyes spoke more to his grief than any words he could have said. 

Juno feels the guilt start to spill over, and shoves it away, scooting closer until Peter’s hip is warm against his shins and he can lay his head on Peter’s shoulder. 

“It always ends the same,” Peter croaks. “I’m always  _ alone--” _

“Not anymore,” Juno says, lifting his head to meet Peter’s eyes. He studies them for a long moment as Peter studies him back. Slowly, Peter leans down, and Juno tilts up to meet him. Their first kiss in a year is barely more than a brush of lips, no heat, only comfort, and it’s everything Juno could have asked for. 

“Stay,” he whispers against Peter’s lips. “I promise I’ll be here in the morning.”

Peter huffs a tiny laugh, and presses his forehead to Juno’s. Then he leans back in for one last kiss. “Okay, Juno.”

He stays. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some consideration, I've decided that this is a good place to end this fic. More drabbles may be forthcoming, but for now, they've found their peace. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys!


End file.
